


Call It Courage

by staringatstars



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Mind Meld, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: After changing his mind (quite literally) in the middle of the Chitauri invasion, Loki attempts to deliver to Asgard a warning of what will come. It's simple enough to do. What's not simple is finding someone who is willing to listen.





	1. Vindication

Blood wells around the dagger’s point, staining Thor’s armored tunic. And Thor’s hopeful expression twists with pain, betrayal, loss, and Loki-

-can’t- 

_-t h i n k._

He stumbles back, a ragged scream ripping past his lips. His brain feels like it’s cooking in his skull, bubbling, boiling, liquefying. 

Half-hysterical with it all, he slaps his palms over his ears to keep his mind from spilling out, and Thor is watching, horrified, the dagger in his gut very much forgotten, as Loki sways like a drunkard, his own arms outstretched cautiously, as though to catch him. The thought alone, that stupid, _stupid_ Thor would try to protect him still, even after he’d just thrust a blade through his torso, brought a giggle bursting forth, and with it, a viscous, black fluid that dribbled over Loki’s lower lip. It tasted putrid. Like dark magic. 

Groaning, Loki squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring Thor’s panicked shouts, the screech and shriek of Dr. Selvig’s machine ripping open the sky. Then he straightened, an arm clutched protectively over his stomach and a fist to his temple. Green eyes flew open. 

Vividly, vibrantly green. 

His gaze darted wildly, taking in his surroundings as though he’d forgotten where he was. There was a glint of recognition, a determined set to his jaw, and a flash of regret at the crimson spreading over Thor’s armored tunic, the wound that did what poisonous words and attempted fratricide could not. Raising his voice, he called out to the outcropping above, “Shut it off, Dr. Selvig!”

Had Selvig not been bound to him by the Tesseract, he might not have heard his words over the cranking of the machinery, the whipping winds, the screams from those beset upon by the Chitauri below, and likewise, Loki might not have heard his reply. “I’m sorry,” the brainwashed scientist shouted down, “but I can’t disobey orders.”

Liable to pull his own hair out, Loki made a noise of frustration. “Those were _my_ orders!”

Thor was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. 

Maybe it didn’t matter. 

Loki tightened the grip with which he held the curved staff in his possession, knowing now what stone it carried. Now that he was aware, he could even feel its subtle attempts to reclaim its influence over him, the invisible, incorporeal tendrils that tugged and caressed in turns. 

He shut them out, raising his own seidr like a protective shield over his thoughts. Focusing on that particular string that guided him to Selvig, he conveyed through the connection, _I know about the failsafe._ A spark of fear pierced the bond, the only evidence of Selvig’s little resistance. In spite of the circumstances, Loki couldn’t help feeling rather smug. That the human had honestly believed he’d performed an independent action without his knowledge was as amusing as it was hopelessly naive. Impatient, he continued, _I’ve known about your little rebellion this entire time. And I don’t care. Now, I am ordering you, Dr. Selvig, to do whatever it is you need to do to close that portal before your military, in its infinite wisdom, drops a nuclear device on this city that will destroy everything and everyone you hold dear._

Predictably, Selvig began fighting the influence of the stone, prioritizing the safety of millions of lives over its orders. He grabbed a piece of fallen debris and smashed the machine repeatedly, violently, screaming with both the physical and mental toll of the effort. 

Meanwhile, Loki curled his lips, baring his teeth at the closing tear in the sky in a feral and vindictive grin. In vast waves, the Chitauri fell, sometimes even dropping from their suddenly inoperable crafts to plummet to the streets below. A little encouragement, the right motivation, and the invasion was over. Loki felt it when the connection between him and the doctor snapped, taking the resulting backlash like a slap, but not even the pain of the forcefully broken bond was enough to ruin his good mood now. 

“What trickery is this, brother?” Thor’s accusing tone dragged him down forcibly from his high, and he reluctantly looked down to face him, and the sight nearly broke his heart. There was again that hope gleaming in Thor’s eyes, but it was shrouded in suspicion and doubt. To himself, Loki wondered if he had altered the course of events one second too late to preserve Thor’s faith in him. 

The thought made his throat go dry. “This is no trick, Thor.” As he spoke, Thor yanked the blade from his side, grimacing. With an almost thoughtless flick of his wrist, Loki had the wound, already well on its way to healing, sealed shut. Not even Thor’s flinch could phase him. After all, whatever pain he experienced now was nothing compared to the agony Loki had spared him. With a buoyant, airy feeling that resembled intoxication, Loki hoisted the staff above his head, “This is only the beginning. I am striking out the red in my ledger,” and slammed it down on the tile, shattering the headpiece and sending the mind stone skittering across the floor, only to be plucked up by a cloud of amorphous magic, and tucked away into a pocket dimension, where no one but the trickster himself could reach it. 

With that done, he brushed roughly past Thor, striding briskly into Stark Tower while heedless of the protests that chased his back. Not long after, the Avengers would find him sitting unarmed at the bar, three-quarters of the way through a tall bottle of the strongest whiskey on the shelf.


	2. Vicissitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second verse, same as the first.

It was fortunate, Loki supposed, that Thor deemed the golden muzzle an unnecessary precaution this time around. Just seeing the damnable contraction in his grasp coaxed an involuntary shudder from him. The metallic taste of it stained his tongue, and he recalled - _a metal strip bent over Thor’s mouth, muffling his cries, choking hi -_

Loki shook himself with a snarl, so focused on dislodging the thought he nearly missed the concerned glance Thor threw him at the motion. A spark of shame burned within him, quickly and hastily extinguished. 

Honestly. Let Thor fear for his sanity. What else was new? 

Their little procession of battle-weary heroes stopped in the middle of Central Park over the tile circle. It wasn’t necessary, really. Heimdall could find and transport Thor across the Nine Realms without such fanfare, though Loki imagined Stark wouldn’t have been too pleased if Thor had called down the Bifrost in his living room. None of the Avengers had known what to make of Loki after he’d suddenly and inexplicably changed sides. Many seemed certain that anyone willing to switch allegiances on a dime as he had ostensibly done would inevitably do so again, and they were correct not to trust him. His allegiance did not, however, lie with them. 

This was taking longer than it had last time. Loki chanced a glance at Thor to find him hesitating. Oh, for the love of - 

“Can we get a move on, already?” Thor started, the others tensed, and Barton plucked an arrow from his quiver, aiming it at Loki’s heart in a single, deft motion. Ignoring their reactions, Loki seized Thor’s arm by the wrist, and yanked it towards the sky, pointing Mjolnir at the heavens, “Heimdall, open the Bifrost!”

It was a pleasant surprise when a rainbow-colored rift indeed opened above, pouring down in a perfect circle and transporting them with a burst of heat and a slight lurch in their chests. Once their transportation was complete, Heimdall greeted Thor from the height of his circular pedestal. “Prince Thor,” he intoned respectively, his golden irises piercing. They fell on Loki, taking in his lack of shackles with a furrowed brow. 

“I have brought Loki home, Heimdall.” And Thor sounded so proud, so elated. Like bringing home his wayward, traitor brother was some kind of achievement. Then again, perhaps it was, though not in the way Thor hoped. 

Fixing Loki with an unwavering gaze, Heimdall replied inscrutably, “I can see that.”

Thor nodded, taking Loki by the elbow, or attempting to. “Could you inform the Allfather of our arrival?” He frowned at Loki’s effortless avoidance, so subtle he barely needed to increase the distance between them at all, yet whenever Thor moved to touch him, his hand passed through air. Quietly, Thor muttered, “You aren’t an illusion, are you?”

Rolling his eyes, Loki swiftly kicked him on the shin, spitting when Thor clutched at his leg, “Is that solid enough for you?”

Heimdall tracked the interaction with interest. “He has already been informed, and waits for you in the throne room.” Then he climbed down from the pedestal, as though to guide them to the palace. Thor stood at his approach, his eyes bright with pain, but Heimdall merely gestured towards the bridge. 

Though uncertain of his intent, Thor began to stride towards the castle, expecting Loki to follow, and Loki would have, had Heimdall not grabbed his shoulder, halting him. “That body does not belong to you.” 

It was almost enough to draw a cackle from him. Grinning widely, Loki ducked from under his grasp, dancing just out of reach with a gleeful,“I should hardly think that is up to you to decide.” A flicker of emotion passed over Heimdall’s features as the mischievous mage dismissed his concerns with a flippant wave of his hand. Whatever it may have been, it was more than Loki had managed to coax from the seer during the majority of a millenia. “And besides…” Loki paused at the gate, knowing that Thor would note his absence soon, and yet, “it would have been mine, eventually.”

He smirked as he stepped out onto the bridge, stopping only when Heimdall unexpectedly warned, “I should be… displeased if any harm were to come to it whilst it is in your possession, imposter.” 

Imposter? How rich. 

“Too little too late, wouldn’t you say?” Drawing back from the seer with a low hiss, Loki bit down on his tongue, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to remind himself of his chosen purpose. It was not to air out old grievances, nor to provoke those who would be his allies against a far greater threat. In his mind’s eye, he could still see Heimdall’s noble form lying limp and broken on the ground. In a hushed tone, exhausted and devoid of ire, he said, “There is much you don’t understand, Heimdall, for one who sees so much.” And with that, he set off at a jog to catch up with Thor. 

He should have known better than to assume he would be taken directly to the Allfather, though. Despite his _heroic_ actions in stopping the Chitauri invasion he had, in fact, left Asgard shortly after attempting to destroy Jotunheim with the Bifrost and attacking the rightful heir to the throne. 

He supposed it didn’t matter. So long as he was granted an audience with the king. Or that was what he told himself when the Einherjar led him away to be defanged. The sight of the magic suppressing collar, the chains, hadn’t surprised him. It wasn’t until they were placing the shackle upon his neck that the metal became flesh, _squeezing the life from him, bones crunching, pressure, can’t breathe, he'sgoingtodie_

“Get that collar off of him! Now!” The pressure released at once, leaving him, though the sensation of a hand around his throat lingered, and Loki coughed violently, warding off those close to him without thought or intent. “Easy, Prince Loki,” that oddly familiar voice said softly. “My men will not harm you.”

When he was once again the master of himself, Loki realized why. It was the guard who had given him the news of Frigga’s death.

He had been kind, then, too. 

Averting his face, Loki cleared his throat. “You have my thanks.”

The guard nodded curtly, remaining close until he was certain Loki could stand on his own, then gestured for his men to bring the disgraced prince before the king. They hesitated, glancing pointedly at the shackles and chains in their hands, and the guard arched a single brow, conveying much without uttering a word. Though he didn’t appear to outrank them so much as merely possess significantly more sense, Loki would have promoted him were it still in his power to do so. 

And thus, the traitor was brought before the royal family unhindered. Such a start boded well for what could be a significant improvement upon the first trial, or that was what he’d told himself shortly before setting sights on the Allmother. 

He remembered her expression from before - carefully composed, yet so clearly frightened for him. He’d fallen, yes, but he was still hers. Now, however, that expression contorted with confusion, followed by unconcealed anger. She marched across the floor, ignoring Odin’s command for her to halt, and struck Loki across the cheek. 

The shock stunned him more than the pain. His lips parted as though to speak, but whatever he might have said vanished from his mind upon seeing the wet sheen of tears in her eyes. “You are both my son and his murderer.” Her jaw set. “What say you to this?” 

Anything he might have planned or rehearsed came apart at the seams. He was prepared to deal with Odin’s suspicion, Odin’s ire, but not hers. Never. “I promise you it was the only way,” he told her truthfully. “Asgard was gone. Thor was…”

“And were you responsible, Laufeyson?” The Allfather interrupted, missing the wrathful glare his queen cast in his direction. “Was it you who brought disaster and ruin upon Asgard?” Much of the suspicion had faded from the Allmother - she had always known when he was telling truth - and she shifted, placing herself directly between himself and the Allfather. 

Loki’s attention, however, was directed solely at Odin. He scoffed. “So that is how you see me, Allfather. I always suspected, but…” With a respectful nod towards Frigga, he increased the distance between them, hardening himself against the dismay bleeding through what remained of her composure. “If you cannot trust me as your son or ally,” seidr welled within him, gifted and natural, foreign and familiar, “then perhaps you will trust me as your enemy.”

A gasp swept through the throne room at the sight of the green aura billowing around him, and the gradual appearance of gold sprinkled through its nebulous form like grains of sand. 

Odin stood. “What are you doing, boy? You cannot break the hold of the seidr.” It was a spell meant to last until the Allfather’s death, after all. Not even Hela had managed to succeed at such a feat. 

With crimson bleeding through the whites his eyes, Loki bared his teeth in a smile, “Watch me,” and attacked the foreign magic, directing his own at it as though Odin’s casting were a cancer. It tugged at the strings, pulling and twisting and ripping. There wasn’t time for something more delicate, and so Loki directed his magic to bite, tear, and chew the golden seidr with the voracity of a wild dog, until at last, what stood before the royal family was a young frost giant, covered in runes. 

Loki blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness of the light. This time, there was no room for secrets. Turning to every guard, every living, breathing soul that his voice could reach, Loki announced, “Thanos will come. Hela will come.” Odin went rigid. Frigga clapped her hands over her mouth. The guards traded glances. “And all that you have built will turn to ash.”

And Thor… Thor looked at him. Saw him. He stepped forward, mouthing his name.

“What do you desire, Laufeyson?” Loki jerked his head to stare at Odin, his mouth agape. “Asgard? The throne?”

“I have never wanted the throne!” Loki stopped, snapping his jaw shut. Odin waited for him to continue, but Loki no longer held any desire to speak to him. Instead, he addressed Thor and Frigga, “Once, I claimed to long for a seat from which to watch Asgard burn, but when I received it, all I saw was my home in flames.” 

Odin scoffed. “Did you lose your mind to the Void, boy?” Loki steadfastly ignored him. 

“I truly did not want to die,” he continued, watching Thor’s expression carefully. “Yet I remember letting go, accepting death. He changed my mind.” He breathed, filling his lungs with clean air in an attempt to cleanse his thoughts. “When I close my eyes, I see you push me from the Bifrost. You call me monster.” Predictably, Thor protested instantly that he’d never do such a thing. Whirling on him, Loki snapped, “You think I don’t know that, Thor?! He _changed_ my mind!” Clenching his fists at his sides, Loki looked away, unable to stand the hurt and confusion staring back at him any longer. His chest felt tight. His throat burned. “It took me years to untangle his thoughts from my own.”

Frigga looked as though she wanted to reach out for him, hold him as she had when he was a child. Loki was glad she didn’t. If she did, he might forget this was real. Such kindness simply did not exist in his reality. 

He sighed, longing for a bed, a life that had never been his. Finally, he called upon what resolve and strength remained to demand, not only of the Allfather, but of every man, woman, and solider in the room, “If I am for the ax then by all means be done with it, but if not then for mercy’s sake listen!” Their whispers carried and spread. He looked into the faces of strangers to see fear, hatred, anger. And doubt. “Prepare your armies, seek out the Mad Titan Thanos whilst he can still be defeated.”

“Did you not serve him, Loki?” Weary and resigned, Loki looked up at the Allfather. “Do you not owe him a debt?” When was it, he wondered, that the great and powerful Odin, wielder of Gungnir, had ceased to frighten him.

Loki hung his head, allowing his fatigue to show on his features. “I owe him a death,” he muttered tonelessly, though it was heard throughout the room. “Nothing more and nothing less.” Instinctively, he attempted to resume his Aesir guise, and was momentarily bewildered when nothing happened. 

It then hit him that there was no longer a guise left to resume, and he grimaced at the realization, only to be dragged from his internal self-reproach by the sound of the Allfather’s dread,“What omen are you that wears the face of my son?”

After silently noting the irony of Odin both claiming him as his son and not, Loki turned to Thor.

“One you should heed.” And refused to speak again for the remainder of the trial.


	3. Validation

Sitting quietly on the floor of his cell, as close to the glass wall as he could get without activating its barrier, Loki slowly rotated his arm, cataloguing the runes with the impassive study of a scientist studying a particularly curious specimen. His flesh was thicker like this. 

Coarser, as well. 

The Jotunn’s biology had evolved to weather harsher climates, a boon which had ensured the survival of their race when the All-father stole their sole means of control over the brutality of their environment. 

With little else to do, Loki had taken to filling the shallow basin in his cell with water and freezing it. To start with, he’d placed a finger in the bowl, counting the seconds as they ticked by before the entire basin was frozen solid. Then he tried shortening the amount of time, and when he had it down to less than a second, began attempting to project the sub-zero temperatures from distances that increased by increments. From what he could discern, the frigid temperatures came as a result of his body’s own internal homeostasis. It was constantly keeping him chilled so he wouldn’t overheat, which also meant that overusing the powers inherent to his race disrupted that balance. Those of Jotunn descent were unable to sweat, and so, it wasn’t until the room was coated in a thin layer of frost, the ice spread thinly over the glass like delicate webs, that Loki realized the harsh breaths escaping his lungs were a result of his systems struggling to compensate. 

The cooler his cell became, the higher his core temperature climbed.

He’d attempted more than once to resume his Aesir appearance. Always it was cosmetic, a veneer, an illusion. The casting Odin had partially sustained since the day he’d stolen him from Jotunheim was well and truly gone, and Loki mourned the loss in spite of himself. 

Weeks passed without a single visitation. 

It was to be expected. Odin did not allow him even that small comfort the first time he’d been confined. There was no reason for him to do so this time, especially not after Loki had made it very clear that Odin’s tainted past would cease to remain concealed much longer. Gilded halls could not hide blood forever. 

Regardless, the sting refused to dull. He felt it like a thorn in his heart, digging deeper into vulnerable flesh with each breath he took in isolation, with naught but the guards casting wary glances his way for company. 

One could understand, then, why he didn’t quite trust the image of Thor standing in the distance. His golden locks were shorn close to the scalp, a remnant of his time with the Grandmaster. There was a patch over his right eye to protect the cavernous socket beneath from dirt and infection. Chainmail covered his arms, and a regal cape flowed from his broad shoulders, its hem trailing the ground as he strode out of the shadows. 

“I’ve missed you, brother,” he rasped, voice full of emotion. He placed a hand on the glass. 

After a moment, Loki rose to place his own hand over the glass, allowing the magic inherent to him to flow forth from his fingertips. The false Thor jerked at the sudden chill, a bit of his flesh sticking to the glass. Watching as he examined the burns on his palm, Loki gave a close-lipped smile, “You are not my brother.” Did Thanos think he was a fool? “I watched my brother die at your master’s hand. None of your tricks will work here.” Confusion and hurt appeared on the false Thor’s visage, so very convincing. 

If Loki didn’t know better, it might have worked. Instead, he snarled wordlessly, slamming his palm against the glass with enough force to send white cracks racing out from under his palm. The impostor’s image faltered, glitching. “Strange, please,” it called out desperately with Thor’s voice, “I need more time!” Then another Thor stepped through the illusion, and it vanished, the long-haired, wary Thor of this time taking its place. 

Loki schooled his features, determined not to give anything away, as Thor took in the frozen basin, the frost on the walls, the mending cracks in the glass. 

When at last his gaze rested on Loki, much to the latter’s dismay, it was with a searching, questioning air. “You haven’t changed back.”

Carefully, Loki agreed, “I haven’t.”

“Is this Father’s doing?”

Stepping away from the glass, Loki said, “You saw what happened. You know what I did.”

Thor looked as though he’d like to follow, though they both knew it wasn’t possible. “Indeed, I saw much.” Again, that searching gaze. “And heard much. And understood very little.”

Long ago, to hear Thor admit as much would have given Loki great joy. Today, what coursed through him could be likened to pride. Thor had come so far since his coronation day, and would go farther still. He had seen it happen. The great man Thor Odinson would become. The good and fair king he’d always had the potential to be. 

Such a future would surely come to fruition. It would not be stolen from him again. 

“It is nothing that will not pass,” Loki lied, if only to spare his brother several wrinkles before his time. There would be far worthier causes for him to crinkle his brow in the coming years, after all. “You must simply be careful not to touch me. I cannot control the ice just yet.” 

“Can you not?” Thor didn’t have to gesture to Loki’s interior decorating choices. The reason for his skepticism was clear enough. “Truly?”

“Do you think I would harm you?” In that moment, Loki regretted his decision to dismantle his Aesir guise. His scarlet sclera was off-putting, he knew, and though Thor did his best to hide it, there was no doubt that it disturbed him. Sighing, Loki turned away, averting his eyes so Thor couldn’t see. “Perhaps, I did,” he said softly. “Once. I’ve since had a change of heart.” After trials and tribulations, some of which this incarnation of Thor would hopefully never experience, they had somehow found themselves fighting by each other’s sides once more. Standing together as equals. Loki frowned at the ice creeping out from beneath the soles of his feet. Jaw tight, he closed his eyes. “Victory was not so sweet as I had imagined it to be. Or rather, the loss far more bitter than anticipated.”

A shuddering breath passed his lips. Exhaustion weighed his limbs. “Why did you come here, Thor?”

“Because I believe you.” Loki twisted to look at him, his eyes narrowed into slits as fatigue fled. “And because Jane needs your help.”

“Jane?” 

Thor looked briefly annoyed. “Do not pretend not to know-”

“Of course I know,” Loki snapped. He hadn’t realized so much time had passed. Nor did he realize he was smiling until Thor stepped back, and he caught sight of his own red-eyed reflection in the glass. He looked wild and half-crazed, but couldn’t find it in him to care. Long had he waited for this day. “Take me to the throne room.”

 

“Her spirit still resides in Valhalla in our time. Nothing’s changed,” Loki would go on to tell the false Thor. Or rather, the _true_ Thor. It had taken some convincing, but several weeks after Loki had frozen Malekith solid and shattered the remains, a man with golden close-cropped hair and mismatched eyes traced the crude image of a snake through the condensation on the glass of his cell, then left without a word, leaving the silly creature behind. When next Loki was visited, he wore a patch again, and couldn’t seem to recall drawing the snake. Even so, Loki decided to trust him. Mostly. 

"But it has. Not for us, but for our counterparts. Your actions here saved her life." Loki decided not to dignify such a paltry comfort with a response. “How is he by the way?” Probably-Thor asked him. “Your past self?” They were each sitting cross-legged on opposite sides of the glass.

Loki shrugged. “As well as could be expected, given the circumstances.” He flinched. “Venomous little pit snake.”

“I’m rather fond of snakes,” Thor reminded him, a twinkle in his eye. 

“I’m aware," replied Loki, not unkindly.

Stretching, Thor climbed to his feet. He leaned back, eliciting several pops and cracks as his spine shifted with the movement. His single eye fell on Loki, bright with mischief. “Are you ready to return now?” It occurred to him then that it had been a very long time since the guards had made their rounds. 

Perhaps, Thor had suggested they take a break. A suggestion normally made with fists or some blunt object. 

Unable to resist the smile curling his lips, Loki rose readily, “I believe I am.” He dusted himself off, showering the tile in fine shards of ice. 

The glass wall between them vanished, opening up a world of possibility. A future. 

Thor outstretched his hand, turning it over to expose a palm covered in burns and scars. Loki knew some of them, but not all. This proved to be a comfort, though he hesitated still, thinking back to Malekith, to Heimdall in another life. Sensing this, Thor’s expression softened. He took Loki’s hand between his own, saying,“You don’t frighten me, brother.”

There was a sudden commotion down the hall. It seemed someone had alerted the guard’s to Thor’s presence, after all, but it was far too late for that now. The pull of Strange’s magic had already begun. It was regrettable that he would not get the chance to say goodbye to the Thor of this time, but perhaps such a parting was for the best. 

He did so loathe goodbyes.


End file.
